


A healthy back is a sexy back

by Batik



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:23:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batik/pseuds/Batik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This has more words than seconds depicted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A healthy back is a sexy back

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to [Nichellen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nichellen/pseuds/Nichellen) for the beta-ing and Brit-picking — and for the reassurances about my writing skills when my paranoia sets in! And thanks to my chiropractor, who shall remain unnamed.

John padded up the hall, looping one end of the belt around the other and pulling until the sides of his bathrobe were loosely held in place. His bare feet hardly made the floorboards creak as he made his way from the bathroom to Sherlock’s bedroom.

Well, their bedroom. They still counted the two bedrooms of their Baker Street flat as his and his, but those designations were primarily based on closet space and the times when they needed to escape each other for a bit. Which was less and less.

For all intents and purposes, Sherlock’s room had become theirs the first time they had christened it with mind-blowing sex and heartfelt declarations and hours of lying tangled in each other’s limbs, mapping the subtle nuances of each other’s bodies.

It had been a long day by the time they made it home from the Yard, and Sherlock had grabbed the first shower as John stopped to check on Mrs. Hudson. Feeling cleaner but not much more refreshed from his own shower, John wanted little more than to curl up with Sherlock and sleep until noon of whatever day tomorrow was.

“Sherlock, I …”

What John had been about to say died on his lips as he reached the bedroom door and beheld the vision in front of him.

A sleeping Sherlock was sprawled on his back across the bed, feet dangling off the near side and head resting near the far side. The towel Sherlock had wrapped around his waist after his shower rested low on his hips, allowing John a breathtaking view of the long, lean body that still made his heart race even when fully clothed.

The edge of the towel had parted just a bit, displaying a tantalizing triangle of upper thigh and a crease of skin where limb met torso.

The sight stopped John in his tracks, and he leaned a shoulder into the doorframe as he simply stood and took it in.

For all Sherlock’s intensity when he was awake, he was mellow in sleep, with still-damp tendrils of ink-colored hair curling across his forehead as they dried. Long eyelashes swept along the slightly darkened moons of skin under Sherlock’s eyes — John couldn’t see them from his current vantage point so much as he could imagine them based on the rare occasions when he woke before Sherlock and had a chance to study him uninterrupted. He could, however, see Sherlock’s lush lips part gently as his pale chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his heart and lungs.

Suddenly less tired, John flexed his fingers as he contemplated running them through those curls and using them to trace that crease of skin until he found its starting point still hidden beneath the towel. As he watched, Sherlock darted his tongue out to lick his lips and John found himself responding by licking his own, a moist little noise piercing the silence in the process.

While quiet, the sound apparently was enough to disturb Sherlock’s sleep.

John, who had been thinking the view couldn’t get much better, quickly revised that opinion as Sherlock slowly began to move and John realized he was still mostly asleep but stretching his way toward wakefulness.

As a doctor who was well-versed in the wonders of anatomy and as someone who had a deep appreciation for Sherlock’s tall, spare proportions on any given day, John found it absolutely brilliant — and more than a bit arousing — when Sherlock stretched, whether first thing upon waking or after hours of sitting hunched over a microscope.

And Sherlock’s own familiarity with anatomy meant he knew how to get the most out of a stretch, even when his body was running on autopilot.

Thus, John watched, one hand dropping unbidden to press against his crotch, as Sherlock lazily clenched the muscles of his thighs and arse before raising both arms above his head and arching his lower back off the bed. It was a slow and prolonged move, subtle but effective, and John imagined the muscles of Sherlock’s lower back rippling as they methodically flexed from the base of his spine upward, from the thoracolumbar fascia through the latissimus dorsi and into the trapezius.

By the time the still-not-quite-awake Sherlock had worked the stretch to his splenius cervicis and sternocleidomastoid, the arch of his back had dragged the towel even lower, pulled his shoulders from the mattress and pushed his chest up until his weight rested primarily on his gluteus maximus and the crown of his skull. 

This left Sherlock’s pale expanse of neck even more expansive — and so exposed and inviting that John instinctively flicked his tongue over his canines as he contemplated biting down and sucking until his purpled mark stood out on that skin like a neon sign in a snowstorm.

John kneaded his hand a bit more firmly into his crotch as the position of Sherlock’s body brought to mind recollections of Sherlock rising up to get as close to John as possible and pressing down around him for the same reason. The dampness John now felt under his robe — dampness that had nothing to do with his shower — stirred similar memories of coming inside Sherlock, spilling into him as he held Sherlock close and licked at the pink buds of his nipples until Sherlock spilled his own warm fluid into the limited space between their bodies.

He had been exhausted just seconds earlier, but thoughts of sleep had fled John as his arousal took over. While he still wanted to curl up with Sherlock and sleep until noon, he first wanted to curl into Sherlock and feel his core heat wrap around him until their bodies pulsed with the evidence of their mutual arousal. He wanted to fall asleep with his cock still inside that beautiful body, possessing it, claiming it as his.

But John always put Sherlock’s well-being ahead of his own pleasure, and if Sherlock was tired enough to sleep, John was loath to disturb him.

As John continued to watch Sherlock while weighing his options — ignoring his arousal in favor of attempting to sleep next to the man responsible for that arousal, or returning to the bathroom for a quick wank before bed — Sherlock finished his stretch, releasing the muscle tension and allowing his body to collapse elegantly back to the bed. He then languidly opened sleepy eyes and looked at John.

John then found he had a third option as Sherlock’s expression shifted and grew heated, his lips curling into a sensuous smile that John was certain would violate several public decency laws if used outside their flat.

“John,” Sherlock said, reaching out one hand in invitation.

John, smart man that he was, didn’t need to be asked twice.


End file.
